Death is a Bad Father
by NyxBlade
Summary: Death may be a god, but his parenting skills leave much to be desired.
1. chapter 1

**_A/n: This is the product of binge-watching the Soul Eater anime like five million times. In my opinion, Shinigami age differently than humans, so that's how I based my timeline. Spoilers from the manga. Please enjoy and review._**

 ** _Disclaimer: I don't own Soul Eater; I could never make something that good._**

He stands on the brink of the abyss. He guards the powerless from evil. He is the protector of order. He shields the human souls from outside corruption. He is a God that provides balance to the world.

He is the overseer of souls, guiding them to the appropriate place; the humans go to the afterlife, the kishin eggs into the stomachs of his weapons.

He also is headmaster of Death Weapon Meister Academy, or DWMA for short; it's a school dedicated to raising and training young meisters and weapons, Death's soldiers against chaos.

He is both feared and loved by the humans; many years ago he had to adopt a goofy manor and change his mask just to prevent children from crying at the sight of him.

He loved children, but they would grow into adults, eventually dying and turning to dust; it was the price of an immortal to be forever alone, mortals being doomed to die from the beginning.

Despite knowing better, he became lonely. He wanted to have companions; he had comrades who lived long, but they would all die in the end. Just like everyone else.

Once, he thought that he needed no fear, that it was useless and unfit for a God. He cast off his fear as a fragment, and it gained life of its own. Two birds, one stone.

His fragment was fully grown from "birth," if one could call it that. He was strong, and he was a god like him; surely, his fragment would never leave him.

He was wrong, though. His fragment, due to his haphazard creation, was driven insane and succumbed to the madness. His duty demanded that he kill him, but he couldn't bring himself to execute his creation even though it threatened the balance of the world.

So, he sealed him away where he could do no more harm at the price of binding his soul to Death City.

After a few centuries, the loneliness returned. He founded a school so he could be with those children he loved so much, but it wasn't enough.

He had what he always wanted, but duty demanded he'd throw it away. He always wondered that if he had known fear at the time, would he have been more perceptive of the monster his fragment was becoming? Would he have been able to prevent all this?

He made a new fragment, this one cut from the part of his soul that upheld duty and order. This fragment was created with more care, to be more mentally durable than his predecessor.

This fragment was a baby when it was "born;" he wanted to have one of those children he loved stay with him forever. He raised the child as best he knew how.

Like the mortals, his child grew up as his power increased. But his child would never die; he would personally see to that. However, his son needed experience to grow strong, so he sent him on dangerous missions, with him watching from the sidelines unable to interfere.

He regained fear; he knew it had importance now. He learned his lesson.

His son returned from a trip to Brooklyn with new friends, and he knew pride again, only this time for someone else's actions.

He watched his son and his students from every mirror in the world, overseeing their progress.

Whenever one of his fell in battle, he died inside. Was preserving the order of the world worth the lives of innocent children?

Selfishly, he was glad it was only some student who died; he always feared that one day it would be his child that shared their fate.

His name is Death.

He is strong beyond measure, but he is still uncontrollably afraid; no matter how many fears he puts to rest, one way or another, even more keep popping up, like cutting off a hydra's head.

He spends his days in paranoia, the voices in his mind never letting him find peace. He can never fully trust anybody because that fearful voice in the back of his head keeps screaming at him that there's no guarantee they'll be loyal, that they won't betray him in the most violent and painful of ways. He lives in isolation. Eternally alone.

He doesn't sleep at night. Assassins strike in the dead of night, and his role as Death's comrade provides him with countless enemies salivating at the chance to put him out of their misery.

Every move he makes, he second guesses; he always imagines the absolute worst case scenario, always more painful and terrible than the actual result.

Fear dominates him; fear is in every step he takes, every thought he thinks, every breath he breathes. Fear consumes him, making every waking moment a living Hell.

The fear got so bad that he thought suicide was the only way to live without fear. He thought about it, long and hard; he came up with several different ways to go about it: hanging a noose on Death's gallow arch, stabbing himself with Vajra, even jumping off a cliff. Ultimately, he was too afraid of death; more accurately, he was terrified by the horrible painful deaths he imagined.

He lived in constant fear; he feared Vajra, his weapon partner, would betray him. So, he prevented that from ever happening.

To alleviate his fear, he willingly slipped into madness; it worked for a time, too, but the fear raised its ugly head every once in a while. But, it was worth it. A brief reprieve from the fear was all he wanted.

Death didn't see it that way.

Death ripped his flesh from his bones, sewed his skin into a bag, and stuffed him inside, like one would throw trash in a garbage bag. All to "protect the order of the world."

He was forgotten, buried under the foundation of Death's precious academy; the only thing he could do was think. Time lost all meaning there, trapped within an escape-free prison. For over 800 years, he thought.

He came to an epiphany: imagination was the source of all fear; without imagination, he would no longer be so afraid, no longer would the excruciating possibilities torment his mind. No longer would this world be Hell.

He hated Death for sentencing him to a punishment worse than death, for condemning his existence as "wrong." He hated him for throwing him away.

Especially since it was all Death's fault he was like this; it was Death's fault he had lived in constant fear, and it was Death's fault he gave into the madness.

Everything was Death's fault, and he hated him for it.

His name was Asura.

He was a perfectionist; he liked everything in order and everything in its place. Everything needed to be exact, symmetrical, balanced. Even as a child, he adored symmetry.

He was a fledgling god; too weak to be important, yet too inhuman to be forgotten. As a result, he set high expectations of himself; after all, he was beyond human, so his abilities needed to reflect that.

He set grand expectations; nothing less than perfection was acceptable. He pushed himself harder and harder, until his body ached and he passed out from exhaustion. He trained, studied, and practiced to become stronger, as strong as his father.

No body had noticed, though. Nobody noticed how his soul yearned for validation, for affirmation that he was worthy of his father's legacy. Nobody noticed how he pushed himself until his godly regeneration became the only thing keeping his body from falling apart.

After all, he lived alone. All alone in a giant house with his father visiting once or twice a month.

He was alone nearly his entire life. He had everything anyone could ever ask for, but that meant nothing because he was alone; he had wealth, power, education, immortality, and three square meals a day. Loneliness was a dark stain on his otherwise pristine life.

His father's reputation alone was enough to ward off any potential friends; people he met either avoided him or approached him only to use his power, status, or wealth.

When he was younger, his father sent him to elementary school like all the other children. Being the son of Lord Death earned him infamy from day one. But, even as a child, he was smart, smarter than even the teacher; that earned him a target on his back.

He was bullied. The teacher stood by and did nothing. Shortly after, he asked his father if he could be homeschooled instead. His father, always overeager to please him, agreed. Books became his companions.

The isolation allowed him to rearrange things as he pleased; everything in his presence was symmetrical. Precisely and exactly symmetrical. Perfect.

All except himself, of course. Those three damned lines of Sanzu that were only on the left side of his head ruined his symmetry.

He was a budding god, but he wasn't perfect; he could never be perfect no matter how much he tried. Everything he did was ultimately futile.

He would be engrossed a task then it would come, like an itch: the need to make things symmetrical. The more he ignored the urge, the stronger the urge got until it became unbearable. He would fix everything in his vision, precisely and exactly, until balance was restored. He would clean his large home spotless so that no stains or marks would dare spoil its symmetry, even until his fingers would bleed from scrubbing too hard.

The urge would be satiated then. Until he looked into a mirror, that is, and saw those horrid stripes...

He tried hair dye, but after a day the stripes returned. His perfect symmetry was forever out of reach; only now was he painfully aware of that fact.

He hated it. He hated it so much.

The time came when his father decided he should get a weapon partner; his father brought photos of weapons: rich, upperclass girls most people would have found beautiful. Not him, though. They had no symmetry.

He had heard rumors of the Thompson sisters in Brooklyn, twin guns who would provide him with his coveted symmetry. He had went to New York himself; it took single-handedly defeating a mob group and bribing them with cash to get them to agree to come with him, but it was all worth it. For symmetry.

For balance.

His name was Death the Kid.


	2. Chapter 2

**_A/n: I decided to make this story a three-shot, one chapter pre-series, one mid-series, and one at the end of it. Merry Christmas to you all. Please review, and I hope you all enjoy._**

 ** _Disclaimer: Soul Eater doesn't belong to me; I could never do it justice._**

He was an immortal; one would think that he would find life dreary by now, considering how long he'd been alive. That might have been true of him a long while ago. But now, he has purpose. Sure, he had his duty of protecting order, but that felt empty, distanced, obligatory just like a human instinctive struggled to survive despite knowing, even if only unconsciously, that death was inevitable. He protected order at the cost of everything else precious, but it left him feeling hollow; he knew order was important, but it just felt meaningless to him. As the humans would put it: his heart just wasn't in it. His body was on autopilot whilst his soul languished.

No longer though. He hasn't felt that way in centuries, not since he had his second fragment, his son. His beloved child, Death the Kid, gave his work meaning; what father wouldn't want his child to live in a peaceful, orderly world? What father wouldn't want a safe world where his child could flourish?

He used to feel like the walking dead, animated by the chains of duty, but with the advent of his son- his precious, irreplaceable Kid- he could feel again; he felt alive again. He had a reason to live: protecting his son. It was if a curse had been lifted, or he woke up from a never-ending lucid dream.

His cute son, although Kid disliked when he called him that, had a few worrisome quirks. He was overly obsessed with order- symmetry and balance and all that; it wasn't surprising really, but it caused Kid to get distracted easily, even in the midst of battle. He worried that might get Kid killed one day.

It was endearing though. Like Kid's adorable lines of Sanzu. Kid was rather formal and polite, too. Kid worked hard and was always very earnest; it made it easier to manipulate Kid, though, which is both a blessing and a curse. His son was so cute, no matter what he did.

One day, he sent four of his students on a "remedial" lesson: Maka Albarn, Soul Eater, Black*Star, and his partner Tsubaki. He sent the students to Stein, an alumni of his school. Stein, he knew from personal experience, was merciless, violent, and obsessed with knowledge to the brink of madness just like his old ally Eibon was all those years ago; he would end up killing them if they didn't show enough promise to his standards. In all likelihood, they would all die.

They were someone's child, too. He felt slightly guilty about it, but the witches and developing kishins were growing bolder each and every day; he needed soldiers not weaklings, as cold-hearted as that sounded, if he wanted to preserve order. For his own child's sake, he was willing to sacrifice the children of others.

Despite what people said, he wasn't a nice person. He was detached, rational- some would even call him cruel. But, he was God; he had faith in the humans, sure, but he was not above using them if push came to shove.

Still, he was proud that Kid wanted to help them even though they were just strangers; he knew he raised a true Shinigami who would be a worthy successor. Kid had strong morals; he would never use people like his father had. For that, he was glad.

He had worried Kid might end up like his brother, but his fears were unfounded.

That day, Kid enrolled himself into the DWMA. Kid would be staying in Death City now, with him; he could keep a close eye on him, keep him out of trouble. He has never been happier.

The anniversary of the founding of his academy soon approached. 800 years since his order was founded. 800 years since Asura was sealed away; he threw a grand party with his students with an excellent local band and the best catering in his city. It would've a blast, one of his most treasured moments between himself, his students, and his beloved son. If only that witch didn't try to revive Asura that day; why that day of all days? Why couldn't it have been when his adorable son was out on a mission?

Asura, his first "son." Asura was a major disappointment in retrospect; he was paranoid, only felt fear, didn't value human life, and had no appreciation for the sacred order. He would have been a horrible heir, even before he was infected with the madness. However, Asura was still a part of him; he pitied him and how he ended up, but that was it.

He supposed he just never bonded with Asura the way he did with Kid.

That Medusa- that slimy, disgraceful, repugnant excuse of a witch who snuck into his school, got close to his son- brought Asura back to life. That monster was now unleashed upon an unsuspecting world because of some upstart scientist-wannabe witch.

He supposed it was his fault, in the end. If he wasn't so sentimental and just killed the poor thing, this problem never would have happened in the first place.

Now Asura was free to wreck havoc; for sure, that was his absolute greatest failure. He knew Asura hated him for what he did to him. He couldn't blame him, not really, but still he needed to correct his mistakes.

Now, he could relate to how Asura felt; fear for his son plagued his mind. What if Asura found out about Kid? Would he kill him? Would he tell him the truth- the half-decayed skeletons in his closet? Would Kid hate him, despise him for what he did to Kid's "older brother?" Would Kid resent him for his lies? For all the half-truths and omissions?

He didn't sleep much- sleep being unnecessary for a god of death, but when he did, his worst nightmares were the ones where Kid finally met an enemy he couldn't beat; his head showed him images of his son, crying in agony as his life slowly drained from him, calling out, " _Father, help me. Please. Father, where are you? Father?_ " He would be unable to help him, his body and soul bound to Death City. He would watch his son die, powerless to do anything, like the fathers of all his fallen students.

Recently, he can't get the image of Kid joining with Asura out of his head; he never would have thought of it before, but now the possibility is becoming all too real. That insane toothy smile on his Kid's face, holding hands with the Kishin, dancing on the rubble of his once majestic academy. Kid had fallen into madness, the madness of order, and destroyed his students, his DWMA. He

To him, that dream is the worst of all, worse than Kid dying. Was that selfish of him?

He couldn't be able to live with himself if Kid hated him. He couldn't go back to those hollow lifeless days.

His name was Death, and he was in danger of losing the only thing he ever loved.

He was finally free after being imprisoned so long by Death. It only took several centuries, but he was patient; many thought that because he was crazy, he couldn't be patient, but they'd be wrong. Very, very wrong.

It felt weird to finally reclaim his skin. It took a while for it to feel natural, having form once more. Muscle movement was strange, too, considering his muscles severely atrophied over the time he was stuck in the bag. His skeleton, for the most part, was fine. He was groggy, too; all the symptoms of being left to rot in a sack of his own skin.

He didn't expect to wake to a fledgling frog witch; only a few witches would remember him, and only a heretic would dare free him. A banished witch, then?

Witches seeing him sleeping, in a vulnerable state, was terrifying; who knows what they could've done? After all, he massacred their covens back in the day. It wouldn't surprise him if they sought revenge in his weaked state.

Although, weaklings like them wouldn't be able to do much to him.

Two witches came, along with a werewolf, four children, a demon sword, and... another fragment of Death? A little brother?

Death replaced him, after all these years. His former leader had fashioned another, one who was incomplete, too, judging by the lines of Sanzu. Weak. Vulnerable. An incomplete death god was the equivalent of a human child: easy to manipulate and impressionable. Death must have wanted his brother not to end up like him.

Did his brother even know about him? About their bond? Unlikely, considering Death was a massive liar; Death lied to him that he would never hurt him, that they were family, yet the next thing he does is tear his flesh from his bones and seal him away... What kind of "father" would do such a cruel thing to his "son"!!??

Needless to say, Death was a filthy liar who constantly made promises he couldn't keep, hypocritical scum, and it wouldn't surprise him if Death decided to manipulate his own "son" into becoming his loyal slave, "family" or not. Poor little brother; his brother probably doesn't even realize he's being used.

His little brother was shooting his soul wavelength at him, tiny pink bullets. The attacks were pathetically weak, adorable really. Typical of Death to use children to do his dirty work.

His brother's power would grow given time, but as of now, he was no threat.

He'd have to tell him eventually, but if they were having a family reunion, he'd rather have clothes on; the witches weren't considerate enough to bring him a set of clothes, but he supposed it was forgivable negligence on their part. The scarfs of flesh he was able to make from the elasticity of his newly regained skin were nice, but not enough to be considered fully clothed. He missed his red shirt.

His madness could now flow freely amongst the populace, setting them free from Death's tyranny. He could free his brother from Death's brainwashing, too. Then, the two of them could kill Death, together, as a family.

He hopes- no, he knows- that his brother will be like him in the end; they shared the same blood, born from the same soul. Their fates are bound. Death mustn't have realized that yet, or deluded himself otherwise. His brother will side with him, he knew it- he hoped it, desperately so. Having an ally who would never betray him, someone he could share his experiences and fears with, someone who wouldn't mock or belittle him for his paranoia, someone who would stand by him until the end- before, he could never dream of such a wonderful turn of fate.

His clowns returned with the emergence of his madness; they were the closest things he had for friends, and as long as he remained in this world, they would too. They served him faithfully, consumed by his madness, but he could never have a proper conversation with any of them; they were filled only with madness and the desire to serve, only that.

That was adequate for their purpose, he supposed, but he craved fulfillment-any fulfillment he had been taken away from him by Death long ago.

Death's end will be painful one- he personally will see to that. How should he make Death suffer? He could tear Death apart limb by limb, but that could never be proper vengeance; it would be too quick. Having Death watch helplessly as his cherished DWMA crumbled around him, while his precious son joined with his fallen brother and tore everything apart, then dying at their hands- that would be far more painful for Death than even an eternity of torture.

Yes, that is what he will do. It's perfect. And together with his brother, the world will be engulfed in madness- a beautiful, unbiased painkiller that liberates people from fear- and chaos shall be the new order. It will be a wonderful world free of judgement and morals, his paradise.

His name was Asura, and he was finally free from his bondage, finally able to recreate the world in his image.

He faced his worst failure yet; it was far more disgraceful than letting some underlings escape, taking too long to master a new stance, or, most disgusting of all, retreating during battle. On his watch, the Kishin was revived. His father had entrusted him with this important task, and how did he reward that trust? With failure; the world order itself was endangered by his absolute failure. How could look his father in eye again? How could he dare to so much to even claim to be his father's son? His father was great- a God, powerful and perfect, if a little informal- while he was trash- weak, pathetic, and _asymmetrical_. He could never compare to his father, and this incident was further proof of that.

However, why didn't his father tell him about the Kishin earlier? Was he untrustworthy? Too unreliable? He understood it was probably for the best, but it still stung, how his father didn't think he was worthy of such knowledge.

The Kishin's madness had strong effects, both short and long term; the madness wavelength would boost the witches' magic power, and, if left unchecked, it would infect the entire world with magic. It was all his fault; every life that was snuffed out by a powered-up witch or a person infected with the madness was on his shoulders. His blunder would cause countless innocent people to die.

It was inexcusable, especially for the son of Death. All that training, all that hard work- when he had that one task, it all amounted to nothing. He was worthless, unworthy.

His father still said he cared for him; it was nothing short of a miracle his father could bear to look at his face- the face of a hopeless, unbalanced failure, but that's the kind of person his father was: kind, forgiving. He wasn't deserving of love, especially his father's.

If he were no longer here, would things be better? If he never existed, would someone stronger have taken his place? Would the Kishin still remain sealed if he wasn't there to screw it up?

Even his friends are tired of him. They never understood him. They mostly keep him around so he could make them laugh with his OCD; they constantly made jokes about his love of symmetry, and every time he would play in their games, he would always suffer a penalty- they thought it would be funny to see him upset living in an asymmetrical home. He would bet his own soul that in their heart of hearts, they hated him; they didn't want to be friends with him because they liked him, just because he had wealth and power. That's why Liz and Patty agreed to be his partners, after all. That's how it's always been.

Even now, Liz always yelled at him when his urge came over him, like a mound of fire ants crawling inside his skin. "Shut up, you damn trust fund kid!" She'd say. He knew she kept her more violent thoughts silent just so she could keep receiving money from him.

They wouldn't miss him at all if he died. They might be sad a day or two- a few obligatory crocodile tears as well, but they'd forget about him in time, only remembering him for jokes: "Hey, remember that spaz Kid? What a freak; he would have torn down the entire place just because it wasn't 'symmetrical.' Heh. What a loser!"

Nobody would care if he died, save his father, but by now his father would have realized what a screw-up he was; when he was gone, his father could have another child, a better one- one who wasn't garbage.

It would be irresponsible of him, though, to leave this world before he righted his wrong; it would be beyond shameful- a disgrace on not only him but his father as well for raising such a horrible son. He would fix his mistake, balance the scales of the universe. Then, and only then, could he think of erasing himself.

Yes, that would be for the best. He'd have to do it outside Death City so his father doesn't find out until afterwards, but it would be easy enough; he had regeneration, not immortality, and not even his father could regenerate his entire head.

But first thing first, the Kishin must die, and Arachnophobia, an organization headed by a witch awoken by the madness, must be destroyed. It was his duty as a Shinigami to preserve the order of the world, doubly so since it was his fault the order was threatened at all.

His name was Death the Kid, and he would do anything in his power to fix his mistakes, even if it cost him his life.


	3. Chapter 3

**_A/n: Thanks for reading this piece of mine until the end. Last chapter of the story. I don't actually know how Asura met Vajra, so I'm making it up. If anyone knows the actual story, please tell me. As always, reviews are always appreciated._**

 ** _Warning: Extreme manga spoilers. Like seriously, don't read this if you haven't finished the manga._**

 ** _Disclaimer: I don't own Soul Eater, so please don't sue me._**

He knew he was going to die.

Death came to every human, every living thing actually; if you were alive, you eventually died, one way or another. But him, he was a God- Gods don't die.

Except when they do.

His fragment- his son, his precious little boy, with glowing stars for eyes and an overwhelmingly kind soul- was almost all grown up. His powers have nearly come to fruition, and two of his lines of Sanzu have connected. Any father would be proud, and he was. It's just that the phrase "out with the old, in with the new" comes into play.

He would never see his son fully grown up. He would no longer be able to protect his son. He would not be able to impart any more knowledge; he couldn't be his son's guiding hand anymore.

He always wondered if it was enough- will his son be alright? Did he prepare his son enough? Will someone take advantage of his son's kindness?

Was this what being a father is all about? Constant worrying and fear? Was this what Spirit felt like about Maka?

It was, at the same, both the greatest and worst feeling in the world.

To think that his son would need to awaken so soon, that their time together would be this short... How much time did he waste on insignificant matters when he could have been with his son? How much time did he waste dodging Kid's questions when he could have just told me the truth for once. How many times has he told his son he loved him? No matter the number, it never seemed enough. It could never be enough.

He could remember when his son was younger, when his powers were newly blossoming-the human equivalent of eight years old. Already, his son could beat most of the students in his NOT class, even without a weapon partner. He was so occupied with battling the witches, then. He made his academy his top priority- it was all for his academy. DWMA this, DWMA that.

He was extremely busy; he didn't even remember to check up on his son more times than not. So, he had decided to pay a late night visit to his darling cherub that late August night. He thought Kid would be asleep; even a death god needs to sleep, especially a developing one- his son looked positively angelic when he slept, so much that his face washed away the day's stress.

That wasn't what he came home to, though.

He saw Kid, still awake despite it being 1:15a.m., running through the advanced Death God katas- katas he shouldn't even have known about until his tenth human year. His son's form was nearly perfect, far better than his own at that age. That in itself was fine- it was commendable, actually. But, Kid was pushing himself too far; a small twist of the foot or an elbow out of place and he would start from the beginning. He stood there, watching, for hours on end in complete silence- save for Kid's small sighs and breaths. He knew his son would have continued had he not decided to make his presence known.

"Oh, Father, how long have you been here?"

"Long enough, Kid. Well done, even I wasn't that good when I was your age."

"Thank you, Father." He looked so happy- he was beaming, despite the sweat and the bags under his eyes.

"You should go to bed, though, kiddo."

His Kid did as told, and to make sure of it, he lurked in the shadows and watched over him. He was proud of his son's hard work, but was slightly worried about Kid's lack of care. But, he was busy, so the incident faded from memory.

He once found Kid passed out on the living room floor. He thought the worst- he couldn't even breathe. He called Stein to check him out; of course, he supervised- he would not take the chance that slightly insane doctor would take this opportunity to dissect his son.

Exhaustion, Stein said. It wasn't the witches, a pre-Kishin, or even a horrific training accident; it was just Kid pushing himself too hard. Exhaustion. _Exhaustion. He left Kid alone on his bed, making sure to lock the doors. He left his son to rest, and thought nothing more on the matter; he had a city to run after all._

In retrospect, he should have known Kid did this more than once. He should have known Kid probably did worse, too. He should have sat Kid down and told him that is was okay to take a break every once in a while. But, no, like a fucking moron- a retarded wastrel- he spent all his time on Death City and his DWMA; he played father figure everyone else's child instead of being there for his own.

What a fool he was. Why didn't he give Kid the attention and affection he deserved? He should have been better- why wasn't he a better father?

Excalibur, an old ally, would come to see his final moments- he, Asura, and Excalibur were the last of the Great Old Ones left in this world, the ones who haven't sealed themselves away or died. Asura, if he was correct that Kid would awaken, would be joining him, too.

Kid would be the new god of his world; he would be the new God of Death. He knew his son would would do a better job than him at creating a peaceful world. One with peace between weapons, meisters, and witches.

His name was Death, and his son was going to be the death of him.

He was on the verge on realizing his dreams; he was free to create a world consumed by madness, and his father would soon fall. His father... that hypocritical bastard, the one who imprisoned his own flesh and blood and left him to rot. 800 years stuck in that bag...

He'd rather not think about it, to be honest. He is in a good mood today, and he'd rather not ruin it.

His clowns and him decided to relocate their hideout to a place no one in Death's service would dare think of- the moon. The only problem was the meisters with extremely strong soul perception; after all, he had a very unique and large soul. The main threat, a subordinate called "BJ" would need to be eliminated, along with this DWMA scythe-meister who killed Arachne, Maka Albarn.

Luckily for him, Death Scythe Justin Law has come to see thinks in a new light- his light. In his name, Justin would gladly murder his comrades; madness makes one more pliable, in his opinion. He was a useful pawn that fell into his palm.

All his clowns have returned; they make an incredibly powerful fighting force: an eternally resurrecting demonic army. The witches, too, would get a power boost from his madness wavelength, making them an even stronger force for Death to face.

Yes, all the pieces were falling into place. The end is nigh.

The only variable would be his little brother. His spies in the DWMA have told him all about the fledgling god; he wielded twin pistols, connected two lines of Sanzu, and his name was, of all things, Death the Kid. Death's arrogance rares its ugly head once more, at the expense of his new fragment.

Only his little brother would make a difference if a battle were to take place between him and the DWMA; Death would send mere humans along with Kid, placing his bet on Kid's awakening to win. If Kid awakened, Death would die; if Kid didn't, he would win and kill Death himself. Either way, Death dies. He would win, certainly.

But that still doesn't stop the fear- the fear that somehow, despite all odds, Death would win. He still couldn't sleep- how could he- when he can see Death arising from the shadows out of the corner of his eye- his ridiculously cartoonish mask narrowing in anger, his deep, raspy voice screaming for his soul's destruction. Large, block-like hands wielding a menacing black blade, a Death Scythe, ready to peel off his skin strip by strip even as he screamed and begged for mercy, for someone, anyone, to save him- ready to throw him back in that living nightmare...

It wasn't possible- he knew it wasn't possible for Death to leave his city- but that didn't stop his fearful mind, his treacherous subconscious from imagining. The bag- his hell on earth; he feared Death would put him in it again. Once more, he would be devoid of any sensation in a never ending daze; he would waste away, longing for someone to finally put him out of his misery.

He would rather be dead than in that bag.

Vajra aches in his throat today; could they sense his grandest victory on the horizon? They never liked disobeying Death, even on little issues; Vajra would always pick Death over him.

Many years ago, back when he and Death were allies, he was introduced to Vajra during a mission in India. A local witch coven had plans to test a new magic on a local village- a new type of magical plague that would cause its victims' bodies to rapidly rot whilst they were still alive. He and Death were the only ones who would definitely not get infected, so they went.

They went directly to the source of the magic and slaughtered the witches effortlessly. He had stayed behind to burn their research; Death hadn't wanted to risk another incident with the spell. Death had went to the village to check for any survivors; lo and behold, Death found a young kid amongst the corpses; the child had been spared because of previously dormant weapon blood. Death took them in, and the little brat became his new partner for one reason and one reason only: Vajra was a mute, so they could never conspire with others or spill his secrets.

As Vajra got older, they got cleverer; they became literate and could now communicate. Vajra often wrote to Death. He always wondered how Death knew when he had done something deemed as "bad." He was ashamed to admit that it took a while for him to put two and two together; Vajra must have been reporting to Death. It was the only logical conclusion.

Despite that Vajra was a despicable human who betrayed him, he still liked them; they were the closest thing he had to a friend. So, he made Vajra apart of him. He had called Vajra out saying that he wanted to train a bit.

When Vajra entered their weapon form, he ate him. The rest was history.

His name was Asura, and he was going to kill his father even if it was the last thing he'd do.

He had returned to his father's side after being imprisoned by Noah in the book of Eibon; it had been a weird experience- floating in white emptiness devoid of human contact. He had met his father's old ally and managed to connect another line. He had grown more powerful, gaining a portion of the strength a true death god should possess.

Still, he shouldn't have gotten captured so easily; he was a death god for fuck's sake! He should have put up a fight, at least, even if Noah was too strong to beat. He should have done something, anything, not just stand there like a deer caught in headlights. Surrendering, behaving so pitifully... He has shamed his father once more.

That bastard Gopher... physical torture wasn't effective on him; he had trained himself mentally since he had found a book on anti-torture techniques in his father's study when he was 11. So, Gopher took advantage of his well-known OCD to get a more desirable result. It was something normal people would laugh at, but it was hell to him- treatment that constantly inflamed his urge but left him unable to do anything about it. It infuriated him- it was mental agony of the most painful kind. He knew that the others wouldn't understand; they'd probably laugh about it and make jokes.

Not only was he a disgrace, but he was also a hindrance, a liability, a weakness just waiting to be exploited. If he was just going to be used to bring his father defeat, he'd rather be dead.

But at least he corrected that mistake; he escaped the book and executed Noah on behalf of his father. He had one other wrong to right before he could ever fulfill his duty as a death god and create a world of order.

The humans who hanged around him, for one reason or another, kept swarming around him, checking up on his wellbeing- in all likelihood, they just wanted to make sure their pet death god was good enough so they could once again poke fun at him without feeling guilty. He knew they didn't really care, but he didn't blame them; how could they care for such a flawed waste of place? Only his father cared and that was because he probably hadn't realized how useless he was.

Black Star was the most enthusiastic, always asking for a spar. If anything, Black Star was the one he felt closest to, especially after their bonding experience in the Book of Eibon. They both knew what it was like to be isolated, even hated, for their bloodline; they both knew the pain of being alone, the pain of never having anyone they knew 100% actually liked them, both the good and the bad. They both knew the unending desire to become stronger. They had both met the Great Old One and bathed in its madness.

No other human he's met had ever tried to help him with his goal. Black Star was the first, and probably the last.

Even Black Star couldn't defy death, though; he would grow old and his great spirit would wither away into nothing. He'd be alone again.

The Kishin has just been found, by accident of all things; he's hidden on the moon alongside an army of clowns. He could finally rectify his mistake all those months ago. The Kishin escaped on his watch, and he would do everything in his power to rid the world of the Kishin's madness.

He's learned that not all madness is detrimental, but the Kishin is mindlessly corrupting every normal soul. Madness and Order, he's learned, are two sides of the same coin; one cannot exist without the other, it's true. However, there must be balance between the two, a beautiful balance between two extremes.

The world he seeks is that of balance, of symmetry. The Kishin would seek to destroy that balance. Thus, the Kishin must be eliminated.

The clown army proved overwhelming, if only because every time they were struck down they were quickly resurrected. This regeneration cost his father many good men. So many casualties... and he couldn't do anything about it. He couldn't even beat a single clown. He was so worthless, so weak.

Auntie...

Even worse, he needed to retreat; he abandoned his men, his comrades! Sure, it was on his father's orders, but still... At least, it was for a good cause- a way to deal with the clown army. He supposed that negotiationing with witches was a start of a new era, his era of peace.

The delegates were to be himself, an immortal werewolf, and four witches. But the witches were taking it easy; in this time of conflict, probably the most important battle in the history of the world, they were not prepared for combat. And they were showering, taking such a long time being so laidback, as their comrades were being slaughtered as they joked around.

Understandably, the witches were not hospitable, despite them being the ones who invited them. Centuries of hostility could not be cleansed within an hour, mutual threat or no. The only thing he could do was bear his soul and hope the witches would agree.

They were let go, eventually; he had chosen to put faith in the witches, hopefully a first step to bridge the relationship between the DWMA and the witches. He headed back to the moon to face off with the Kishin.

His name was Death the Kid, and he was going to create his new, peaceful, perfect world.


End file.
